


Wicked Game

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Snow White and the Huntsman Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: Stiles’ scent always lingered for Derek, even in the city. But here, in the forest, his scent overwhelmed. There was no smell of magic; no sharp spark of lightning before the first dew of the morning faded.It made the wolf’s hackles rise in agitation, the fear of the unknown.Only to be calmed by the smell of petrichor consuming him. The smell of light rain splashing against petrified stone and dusted grass, of dirt being watered for the first time in many moons.“You’re not afraid of me,” Derek plainly noted.“You’ve given me no reason to be,” Stiles answered.~*~Or, Derek is wary of mages and the Raven Queen wants one particular mage's heart. The only problem is that Derek is fond of said mage.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 73
Kudos: 780





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [thealphasspark](https://thealphasspark.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for your support on everything! I hope this is to your liking and that I did your idea justice <3
> 
> Title comes from [Wicked Game](https://open.spotify.com/album/3o0FaMaRFIHDzHQHwVwsbG?si=cWaeo0axSz-5XeQtpdp2Fw).
> 
> This is aesthetically inspired by Snow White and the Huntsman, and the opening with the Queen wanting Stiles' heart follows it ... but after that it kind of takes a route of its own.

Derek tried to forget what it was like each time he had completed a contract. He was a huntsman, and it was something he did well enough he could get paid for.

After each bounty was paid, his purse was heavier and his heart was colder. He never forgot a bounty, no matter how much he tried. He could recall each of their names and faces, knowing how their voices hitched in shock when discovering the truth.

Being a werewolf gave Derek an edge. Magic made his wolf’s hackles rise, the electric smell causing his stomach to twist at the memory of the fire burning his village.

There was a reason mages were second class citizens in the Queen’s kingdom—enough bad people used magic for bad reasons, and everyone was labeled a criminal because of it.

Everyone’s fear of mages kept Derek’s pockets from emptying, and no change appeared to be on the horizon.

The tavern was busier than usual, more people flocking towards the city now that the snows had melted. Derek kept to himself in the back, his usual spot to sit and decompress. His bones ached, his thoughts muddied by the ale he drank.

This last bounty was harder.

A naive mage who thought they’d come to the city and make a fortune peddling lies. One of their concoctions killed a child, and it was enough to call the hangman down on them.

It didn’t matter to Derek—it was money.

Derek barely flinched when a bowl was placed in front of him, a familiar warmth lingering by his back. The smell of fresh herbs and thunderstorms tickled his nose, knowing the scent as one he hadn’t smelled in a long time. “You’ve been gone a while,” he commented as he looked down at the stew in front of him.

Stiles sat across the table from Derek, pushing his hood back with one hand. He offered an arched brow. “You’re not as drunk as usual,” he commented.

Derek looked up at Stiles, narrowing his gaze as he held up his cup. “I’m working to correct that.”

Stiles’ lips quirked into a fond smile. “When was the last time you ate?” He softly asked, his expression turning sad as he watched Derek drink a good portion of his ale.

“Not hungry,” Derek finally answered Stiles as he pushed the bowl towards the other man.

“Eat it,” Stiles sternly instructed him.

Derek leaned against the table, looking at Stiles. “How long have we done this?” He questioned.

“Whenever we bump into each other,” Stiles simply stated as he too leaned against the table. “Which is becoming less and less as time continues.”

“Maybe I’m avoiding you,” Derek replied.

Stiles sighed. “Or maybe your work is taking you longer to finish.”

Derek snorted, taking another drink before speaking, “No, I just happen to have more of it now.”

Stiles frowned at that. “You never said what you did,” he reasoned.

Derek sighed, relenting and taking the bowl of stew back close to him.

Stiles looked pleased with himself as he watched Derek consider the stew. “Will you never say what you do?”

Derek made a point of not telling people what he did besides being a huntsman. He never told anyone but the contractor details of his work, all to avoid unwelcome judgment and revenge plots. Those that knew of Derek’s abilities and reputation were the ones who hired him—he enjoyed his anonymity in all other settings.

“Will you tell me what you do?” Stiles faintly smiled when silence answered him. “I have to say, I’m not at all surprised,” he uttered.

Derek looked up at Stiles, his gaze calculating and evaluating the other man. “And why would you want to know?”

“Because you won’t tell anyone,” Stiles countered with an arch of his eyebrows. “So I find that interesting.”

Derek faintly smirked, shaking his head.

Stiles reached a hand out to touch Derek’s hand. “In all honesty,” he started when Derek looked up at him in surprise. “Take care of yourself.”

“You’re acting strange,” Derek noted, looking down at Stiles’ hand on top of his own. He slowly overlooked Stiles, his gaze flickering towards the guards that had walked into the tavern some time before Stiles. He noticed how the men had looked over at them a few times. “Are you in trouble?” He simply asked, looking back at Stiles.

Stiles drew in a steady breath before answering, “I’ll be away for a while. And … and I’m concerned about you.”

Derek’s brow knit together in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized.

“You’re not making sense,” Derek remarked.

“I’ll see you,” Stiles softly stated, as if he had hoped it was a promise instead of a parting.

Derek watched as Stiles left the tavern just as fast and seamless as he had entered. He could smell Stiles’ scent lingering at the table, his thoughts briefly blurred.

Stiles’ scent had always been alluring, if not intoxicating, whenever Derek caught wind of it. The sharp tones of chestnuts and sage was welcoming, soothing to the calm. Those weren’t the smells that attracted Derek the most to Stiles’ scent. It was the lingering earthy tone that spread warmth through Derek’s body—the smell of rain mixing with the earth after a drought.

Derek wished Stiles would have lingered a while longer, his wolf having craved the contact and scent that came with the man.

“Are you the huntsman who goes by Hale?” A voice demanded from somewhere behind Derek.

Derek sighed, closing his eyes briefly before turning his head to look at the men. He eyed the man who spoke, catching sight of the royal crest etched into the breast of his armor. “Depends,” he answered, turning to look back at where Stiles had been. He gladly took hold of his mug of ale.

“Answer the question,” the man demanded in an irritated tone. “Are you the mage hunter?”

“If you want me to catch you a mage to string up, you can go fuck yourself instead,” Derek stated into his mug as he took a swig of the remaining ale.

“The Queen wants a word with you,” the man finally stated.

“And if I say no?”

“You don’t get to,” the man replied.

“Of course not,” Derek sighed. He was curious what type of business Stiles had gotten messed up with.

~*~

“You have a reputation,” the Queen sighed, her hands clutching tightly on her throne. She dug her nails down into the ornate metal of the throne beneath her, knowing that it was the only thing grounding her. She was weaker than she thought, knowing she couldn’t fly out to find him on her own. “I need someone brought to me.”

Derek scoffed at the Queen’s words. “Sounds like a job for your knight commander,” he commented, gesturing his head towards the man who had hit him with the hilt of his sword. He was still confident things would have been different if the other men had minded their own business.

“You know the Dark Forest, do you not?” The Knight Commander loudly demanded.

Derek looked at the man with little interest. “Aye,” he offered in nonchalance. “If your mage is hiding in the Dark Forest, he’s likely already dead.” He looked at the Queen. “You’ll be handed a corpse at best.”

“That’s none of your concern,” the Queen forcefully stated.

Derek narrowed his gaze at the woman, a faint smile pulling on his lips when he detected the fear in her pulse. “You need him alive.”

“I’ll have you whipped for your impudence,” the Queen lowly threatened.

“Better than dying in the Dark Forest on a fool’s errand,” Derek replied.

“Your reputation precedes you,” the Queen answered, leaning back in her throne. She reached a hand back to caress one of the ravens’ feathers as it stretched out above her shoulder. “You had a family once,” she stated, as if the memories were coming back to her. “A love,” she added, a smile forming on her lips when Derek’s careless facade flickered some.

“You know nothing of my life,” Derek angrily denied her observations.

“I know the pain you hide,” the Queen corrected him. “You think you’re the only one to suffer at the hands of a mage?” She shook her head, moving to stand up out of her throne. She barely reacted when her guards followed her silent command to release their hold on Derek. She leaned closer to his kneeling form, making sure she was close enough to be heard. “I know you’re a wolf, huntsman,” she softly stated. “I know you can tell what I am.”

The Queen smelled of irises and saffron, the strength of the flower petals almost overpowering, as if they would tumble from her dark curly locks. There was something otherworldly lingering beneath the scent—something that sharply sparked the smell of sulfur in Derek nostrils.

Derek remained silent as his blood warmed to the magic crackling through the shared air—like lightning. “You’re a mage,” he simply uttered.

“And you know what I can do,” the Queen whispered. “Bring me back the mage I seek, and you’ll be given a reward greater than anything you can imagine.”

“I doubt that,” Derek replied, defiantly looking the Queen in the eye.

The Queen smiled as she touched her fingertips to Derek’s chin, turning his face upwards. “I know you dream of them still,” she stated, using her magic to dig deep into Derek’s memories. “You dream of a day without the fire,” she smiled when she felt Derek stiffen beneath her hands. “A day before you returned home to find nothing but blood. I can give you that.”

“No one can give me that,” Derek angrily stated.

“ _ I  _ can,” the Queen forcefully corrected him.

Derek didn’t react.

The Queen reached down, grabbing Derek’s wrist in order to lift his hand into view. “He left his mark on you, knowing you’d be swayed to keep him safe.”

Derek looked at his hand, suddenly seeing the soft orange aura glowing as it pulsed and entwined through his fingers. He couldn’t place who would have had a chance to cast the ward on him, until his thoughts drifted to Stiles.

Stiles had placed his hand over Derek’s for that brief moment before fleeing the tavern.

“You want  _ Stiles _ ?” Derek incredulously asked.

The Queen appeared uncertain of Derek’s words. “Perhaps that is the nickname he has gone by,” she noted, looking at her Knight Commander.

“I’ll have the men check for news about someone named Stiles,” her Knight Commander obediently stated.

Derek looked down at the ward still clinging to him. He couldn’t feel any pain or weakness from the ward, but he knew he had to get the one that cast it to remove it. “He’s not in town,” he finally stated. He slowly rose to his feet, straightening out his clothes and gear. “If he’s in the Dark Forest, it won’t be hard to find him.”

The Queen looked at Derek, arching an eyebrow at him. “You’ve changed your mind—just like that?”

“He used magic on me,” Derek commented, turning a cold look towards the Queen. “I don’t take kindly to that.”

The Queen scoffed. “Bring him back to me— _ alive _ ,” she instructed Derek as she approached him. She reached a hand out, fingers tapping against the different clasps of Derek’s vest. “And I’ll give you what your heart truly longs for.”

~*~

It was like second nature to Stiles, weaving his way expertly through the Dark Forest.

The trees parted for him, branches moving like welcoming gates opening for the return of an honored guest. The ground evened beneath his feet, making quick work of his path as he continued further into the forest.

Stiles’ plans had changed with the arrival of the Royal Guard. He had hoped he could convince Derek to help him barter with the merchant. He clutched a hand to the bag strapped across his chest, a helpful reminder that it held the ingredients necessary for him to save the rest of the village.

The sound of twigs snapping caused Stiles to stumble, he calmed his breathing as he tried to focus on the origins of the noise. He turned his head to look at the forest behind him, eyes scouring the treeline where he entered from. He took a step back when silence fell over the forest. The branches creaked, leaving no other noise echoing through the trees. He took a giant step, prepared to turn and head back towards his destination. He startled when someone grabbed him.

A hand placed over Stiles’ mouth before a sound left his lips.

Stiles thrashed, using his whole body to attempt getting away from his captor. He struggled until a familiar voice softly hushed him.

“Stop.”

Stiles stilled as his hands settled over the arms holding him pressed up against a firm body pulling him back towards the camouflage of the trees. His feet stepped back to follow where he was being lead. He slowly pulled the hand away from his mouth, turning his head to look at the man holding onto him. “Derek,” he harshly whispered against Derek’s palm.

Derek hushed Stiles, his gaze looking out to where Stiles came from. He settled them back against the various tree trunks, gesturing for Stiles to look back at the woods. “You have followers,” he whispered against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles looked at where Derek had been pointing, seeing for the first time the trees revealing the strangers. He recognized the armor one of the men wore, the Royal Guard sigil stood out brightly against the gloom of the forest. He slowed his breathing as he tried to remain as still as possible, his grip on Derek subconsciously tightening.

“Where the fuck did he go?” One of the guards angrily demanded. “He was right here!”

“Quiet,” another countered.

“Afraid of the woods?”

“Anyone could be listening,” one of them reasoned.

“Shut up!” The original guard ordered. “We’re headed back to the outskirts—if he comes back, we’ll catch him there.”

Derek held Stiles close as they waited for the Royal Guard to practically disappear into the forest again.

Stiles took a step away from Derek, eyes carefully tracking the men as they left. When he was confident that the men were gone, he turned to look at Derek. “What the hell?”

Derek shuffled the weight of his coat some, looking back at Stiles. “You’re welcome.”

Stiles arched his eyebrows at Derek.

“They were looking for you,” Derek replied. “And if I could track you, they clearly could too.”

“Or they followed you,” Stiles countered.

Derek snorted at that.

Stiles observed Derek for a moment, uncertain of why exactly the other man would follow him. “Why are you here?” He finally asked.

Derek looked surprised by Stiles’ question. “Saving you—”

“You didn’t know I was in trouble when I left the tavern,” Stiles began, taking a step towards Derek. “Why are you here?” He asked again.

Derek was silent for a beat before he reached a hand out to pull on the strap of the satchel hanging around Stiles’ torso.

Stiles jumped slightly, almost instinctively batting Derek’s hand away.

“The merchant grew suspicious of you,” Derek finally stated. “He was the one that contacted the guard, who spoke to a few people to find out that you were often sighted speaking with me in the tavern.”

Stiles features fell, his brows turned up in guilt.

“I’m fine, by the way,” Derek added, gesturing to himself. “The Queen insisted I knew more than I said—”

“The Queen spoke to you?” Stiles incredulously asked, taking another step towards Derek. “What did she say?”

Derek was surprised by Stiles’ reaction. “She wanted to know where you were going,” he offered. He took a step to the side, picking up his previously discarded saddlebag perched at the base of a tree. He offered the bag to Stiles, waiting expectantly for the other man to take it.

Stiles took the bag in his hands, his gaze lingering on Derek for a moment before opening the leather saddlebag. He was surprised to find the rest of the ingredients the merchant had failed to offer for purchase. “How did you … ” He looked up at Derek.

“I’m good at detecting a lie,” Derek replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “It comes in handy when tracking down someone.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the bag. “You found my trail that easily in the marketplace,” he pressed the honesty of Derek’s words. “How could you know I spoke to him?”

“I’m good at my job,” Derek replied.

Stiles waited, expecting Derek to reveal what that job truly entailed.

“I’m a huntsman, Stiles,” Derek tiredly stated. “Intimidating a few people into telling me what I want to know isn’t a difficult task.”

Something flickered in Stiles’ eyes before he looked down at the saddlebag. “I suppose that makes sense,” he stated. “And you knew I needed these exact ingredients how?”

“The man said you had been particularly unpleasant to deal with,” Derek recalled. “Something about you stealing—”

“I didn’t steal!” Stiles adamantly argued, recalling the disagreement he had gotten into with the old man. “I had paid him, but he counted my coin wrong. So I had to go without the amount I needed.”

Derek snorted. “He told me something like that. So I asked for the remains of what you wanted.”

Stiles stomach twisted, the sensation of butterflies swirling around inside made him uneasy. “What do I owe you?”

Derek waited for Stiles to look at him. “The truth,” he finally stated when he caught Stiles’ gaze. “I think I earned that.”

Stiles sighed, hesitantly nodding in agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek had recognized the look of surprise on Stiles’ face when he opened the saddlebag. He had been hesitant, wondering what would happen if he had confronted Stiles instead of keeping the truth from him. Something in the back of his mind wanted him to ask Stiles for the truth—to know what the spell was that he cast. Bitterness twisted in his gut when he thought of Stiles tricking him on purpose, and using him against his will.

Derek walked behind Stiles, pushing back the various branches that seemed to part for Stiles before falling into Derek’s way. He wondered if the magic of the forest answered to Stiles’ manipulations. “You’re traveling through a death forest for profit?” He asked without a tense tone, trying to pretend that he wasn’t as invested in Stiles’ reasons.

“And how do you define profit?” Stiles asked in response, turning his head to the side in order to see Derek behind him.

“Like a normal person,” Derek answered. “The weight of gold in your pocket.”

Stiles softly snorted at Derek’s response, shaking his head as he continued to lead Derek through the forest. “Not everything can be bought with gold,” he decidedly answered.

“Anything can be bought with gold,” Derek gruffly countered. “You just need to find the right buyer.”

Stiles’ steps slowed to a stop before he finally turned to face Derek. “Surely you can’t believe that.”

Derek carefully observed Stiles, taking in his appearance. “You don’t get it,” he roughly stated. “The medicine you have didn’t come cheap, and there is a reason for that. Even without a currency in place, a barter system would have to be created. Sometimes people have to make the tougher calls.”

Stiles pursed his lips as he digested Derek’s words. “You’re saying I should let sick people die,” he finally concluded.

“I’m saying that not everyone is as they seem,” Derek corrected him. “You can’t have everything in the world, Stiles. This isn’t a fairytale.”

Stiles was disappointed by Derek’s opinion. “Why are you helping?” He finally asked.

Derek took a step towards Stiles, closing in on the space between them. “I believe in people like you,” he explained. “People who work to make a change.”

Stiles’ features softened some. “You’re a huntsman,” he stated Derek’s earlier admission as if it was reason enough for Derek to act the way he had. “You don’t believe in mankind.”

“I’ve seen what mankind is capable of,” Derek countered.

Stiles’ gaze was open, vacant as he looked Derek over. “You say that like you aren’t human,” he finally pressed back.

Derek looked at Stiles, realizing he had forgotten himself in the moment. He couldn’t keep his flirtatious banter with Stiles when the truth was glaringly obvious—Stiles was a mage in hiding. “Is that you asking, or assuming,” he calmly responded.

“I don’t assume anything,” Stiles stated. “I make calculated guesses.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Is this you guessing then?”

Stiles bit down on his bottom lip, subconsciously chewing on the delicate skin. “I can’t say.”

“Or won’t say,” Derek replied to Stiles’ declaration. “You’re afraid that you’re alone in the Dark Forest with some nonhuman.”

Stiles’ heartbeat quickened at Derek’s words. “Well, humans scare me more than nonhumans,” he truthfully goaded, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as his gaze subconsciously dropped to Derek’s mouth.

Derek placed his hands on the tree trunk behind Stiles, turning his body towards the younger man as he slowly and deliberately caged him in. He watched as Stiles’ pupils dilated, keenly listening to the elevated uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat. He knew the signs of lust all too well. His fingertips caressed the curve of Stiles’ throat, his fingers gliding across the bend of Stiles’ neck before resting his palm just under Stiles’ jaw.

Stiles’ scent was intoxicating Derek’s senses now that they were outside the stench of the city. The putrid smell of sweat and manure were no longer plaguing Derek’s nose, the forest pulling him back to balance and freeing him to focus on Stiles. His wolf wanted to run, to be free and unhindered by the constraints of man, but he never bothered trying—never again.

Stiles’ scent always lingered for Derek, even in the city. But here, in the forest, his scent overwhelmed.

There was no smell of magic; no sharp spark of lightning before the first dew of the morning faded.

It made the wolf’s hackles rise in agitation, the fear of the unknown.

Only to be calmed by the smell of petrichor consuming him. The smell of light rain splashing against petrified stone and dusted grass, of dirt being watered for the first time in many moons.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Derek plainly noted.

“You’ve given me no reason to be,” Stiles answered.

Derek closed the gap between their lips, kissing Stiles deeply as he leaned into Stiles’ space.

Stiles’ hands grasped the pleated leather of Derek’s vest, pulling Derek closer as he opened up into their kiss. He was dizzy with the want he tried to pretend wasn’t there for so long, ever careful and playful in their banter to avoid such an admittance. His back collided with the tree behind him when Derek leaned against him, unable to find himself caring about anything but their kiss. He faintly moaned.

“That’s why you followed me,” Stiles mused, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

“Couldn’t let the Queen’s guard get you before I got a chance to do this,” Derek answered, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ lips as his hands titled Stiles’ head up into it.

Stiles lightly gasped, muffled by their kiss, when Derek slipped a knee between his thighs. His breathing was labored, heartbeat elevated, as Derek pressed kisses along Stiles’ cheek and jaw. “Derek,” he softly uttered, drawing in a heavy breath to keep from moaning. His fingernails dug into the cured leather of Derek’s vest, unwilling to let him go despite the logic screaming in his head. “We should … leave the forest,” he forced himself to speak despite the way he wanted nothing more than staying here.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Derek mused against Stiles’ pulse point.

Stiles’ scent was strongest there, something pure and untainted drawing Derek’s attention away from their surroundings.

Stiles lightly chuckled, his hands moving to run through Derek’s hair. “I’d like to wait for a bed,” he reasoned with a smile on his lips. He gently nipped Derek’s earlobe, more encouraging than he should have been.

Derek’s teeth itched, the draw of his fangs becoming overwhelming. He drew in a deep breath, Stiles’ scent lingering in his nostrils as he tried to calm the wolf’s pull. It was never this strong—never this difficult to control.

Even with Paige.

Stiles yelped when someone cleared their throat, pushing a distance between himself and Derek as he tried to untangle them. He stumbled some as he moved to look at the person who interrupted them.

Derek turned his head, uncaring in adjusting himself as he looked at the person.

“I see you’ve been distracted,” the young woman addressed Stiles.

Derek took in the woman’s appearance, noting that she wore a dress made of fine fabric, despite its well worn nature. He could smell the spark of magic in her aura, knowing she must have been the person Stiles was meeting given the secretive nature.

“We— the Queen’s guards followed me, Derek helped me avoid them,” Stiles reasoned as he took a step forward to block Derek from the woman’s view.

Derek could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

“He kept you from view by rubbing you against a tree,” the woman plainly drawled.

“Lydia,” Stiles’ voice rose an octave, the embarrassment rolling off of him was easy to pick up.

“You weren’t supposed to bring anyone with you,” Lydia started, her gaze turning critical. “We could lose everything if he says something.”

“He got the rest of the ingredients for us,” Stiles argued, grabbing ahold of the saddlebag Derek had given him. He held the bag out for Lydia to inspect.

Lydia pursed her lips some, her expression still pinched.

Derek sighed, giving Lydia a tired expression.

~*~

Stiles twisted his fingers together, sprinkling the various herbs into the mortar as he mixed them. He crushed the herbs together with the pestle in a hurried motion, grinding them into a powder. He looked over his shoulder when he heard someone enter the hut. He turned back to his work when he realized it was Lydia.

“Do you have any idea what you did by bringing him here?” Lydia demanded.

Stiles poured the ground down dust of herbs into bubbling broth over the small fire that was going. “He saved my life,” he countered.

“He’s a liability,” Lydia replied.

“Then why did you leave him alone,” Stiles argued against her with a sigh as he stirred the mixture.

“I left him with Allison,” Lydia replied.

“So they’ll tear the camp apart trying to kill each other if they disagree on something,” Stiles tiredly looked at Lydia. “Did you at least ask her to be nice?”

Lydia pursed her lips some.

“Mature,” Stiles bitterly uttered as he moved to stand, pushing by Lydia to head back out into the makeshift village.

~*~

Derek leaned against the fence as he looked out over the water surrounding the village. He had to admit, it was a smart location—fortified by nature to avoid the mishap of a stranger stumbling upon them by accident. He admired the swamp for its independent stability, offering a safe haven for these people.

“Huntsman,” a female voice attempted to gain Derek’s attention.

Derek didn’t reply, wondering if the person would admit defeat and just leave with the embarrassment of being ignored. He wasn’t so lucky.

“You did what you came to do, you should leave now,” the woman’s voice continued to address Derek, her voice drawing closer to him.

Derek continued to look out at the swamp’s water, gaze looking to where the lake stretched out from the border of the marshy terrain. He could see the woman in his peripheral vision. “I’m escorting a friend,” he finally offered when the woman lingered in standing beside him.

“I know who you are,” the woman threatened in a calm tone.

Derek wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t smell magic on her like the others, making him confident she wasn’t a mage. Then again, he had thought that of Stiles once. He looked at her finally, taking in her appearance.

The woman was beautiful, the scars along her face only adding to her natural beauty. The marred skin reflected the toughened stoicism in her gaze. She wore fine leathers and furs, worn and beaten in the right spots to prove she was a seasoned warrior. Her chestnut hair fell in waves over her shoulders, expertly plaited braids keeping her hair from falling into her face. She had a sword sheathed against her back, an axe belted against her thigh.

“You’re a huntsman,” Derek stated instead of addressing her previous statement, intrigued as to her presence.

“Was,” the woman replied. “But I know who you are, Derek Hale,” she pressed her previous admission.

Derek scoffed, turning his gaze back to the water. “You and anyone willing to listen to fishwives’ tales.” He gestured to the docks where various people hobbled up and down the wooded walkway, “Fitting, that we’re surrounded by them.”

“Allison,” Stiles’ voice sharply called her name as he approached them. “Leave him alone.”

The woman—Allison—turned to look at Stiles. “You’re quick to defend him.”

“Because I know you and Lydia,” Stiles argued as he squeezed his way between Allison and Derek, his back exposed to the older man. He turned a displeased expression on Allison. “You are critical of anyone who is an outsider.”

“ _ Because  _ they are outsiders,” Allison answered. She looked over Stiles’ head to glare at Derek. “And he’s a killer.”

Derek turned his body towards Allison, aware of just how close Stiles was to him. “And you believe you aren’t,” he simply countered.

“I left the huntsmen,” Allison sharply stated. “But you were a killer before you joined.”

The wolf reacted to the heckle—raw and wounded as a growl admitted from his chest.

Stiles stumbled some when Derek stalked forward, as if he wasn’t an obstacle to get through in order to reach Allison. “Derek—” he softly started, attempting to stop Derek from rising to the taunt.

Derek tore himself away, storming off to escape from Allison.

Stiles watched Derek go, turning a murderous glower on Allison. “That was uncalled for—”

“You don’t know what he is or what he’s done, Stiles,” Allison angrily stopped Stiles’ argument before he began. “Was he nice to you? Did he cozy up to you in a charming way?”

The anger began to fade from Stiles’ face, a frown replacing it once Allison’s words weighed on him.

“It’s what we’re taught to do,” Allison stated. “And Derek just happens to be one of the best at it.”

Stiles felt small under Allison’s critical gaze. “I befriended him.”

“It always feels that way—I’m sure that’s what the first dozen felt before he handed them in,” Allison harshly uttered as she moved to walk away. She paused, turning to look at Stiles once more. “Ask him about his family if you think you know him so well.”

The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck rose, knowing that subject was as sensitive for Derek as it was for anyone living outside the norm of humans.

~*~

Derek was busy sharpening one of his axes to mind Stiles’ arrival in his tent. He had removed his leather holsters and vests. The less constricted he was in movement, the happier the wolf was.

The wolf was close to the surface, angered and annoyed that it was surrounded by the unknown. It calmed when it recognized Stiles’ scent entering the tent.

That only made Derek even madder.

Stiles lifted up the pelts on display for Derek to understand why he came. “It gets cold at night,” he reasoned when Derek went back to sharpening the blade.

Derek remained silent.

Stiles took a timid step forward, part of his brain wondering why Derek bothered staying if Derek’s initial plan was to just accompany him to his destination. He dropped the pelts on the bed next to Derek before clapping his hands together in uncertainty. “Okay,” he softly noted, taking Derek’s silence as the attempted ignoring it was.

Stiles’ scent soured as he turned to leave the tent.

Rain, before a storm. Rain, in the driest of climates. Tartness turning bitter, the freshly watered dirt turning to ash in your mouth.

The wolf’s hackles rose, angered at Derek now.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally stated, turning to look at Derek as he refused to leave the tent without solving this. “I didn’t know Allison would react that way—”

“Yes, you did,” Derek answered as he cast the ax down to join the rest of his gear on the ground. “You just hoped my character wasn’t something she could tear apart.”

Stiles was taken aback by Derek’s words. “I wouldn’t do that to someone.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” Derek vehemently replied, turning his gaze towards Stiles.

“What are you playing at?” Stiles demanded, firmly placing his hands on his hips as he stood his ground.

“You’re a witch,” Derek harshly spit the word at Stiles—like it was a putrid flavor he couldn’t get rid of.

Stiles recoiled some at the venom in Derek’s words. “Aye, I am,” he angrily countered. “What of it?” He demanded Derek to point out something nefarious in his existence as a magic user.

Derek laughed, cruelly. He stood to his full height, turning on Stiles as he walked into his space. He could see that Stiles didn’t like this side of him.  _ Good _ , he thought,  _ no one did _ .

Stiles took an unsure step back, ready to depart the tent if need be.

“I know what you did to me in the tavern,” Derek stated, as if it was the big reveal waiting in the dark.

Stiles blinked as he stared at Derek. “That’s … that’s what you’re mad about?” He incredulously asked.

“I don’t take kindly to mages using magic to fuck up my instincts,” Derek stated, a faint disgust in his tone. “I was used once by a mage, and I won’t be used again.”

Stiles’ features fell, understanding dawning on his face. “You think I charmed you,” he stated in awe, his brow quickly furrowing into disgust. “You think I’d do that to anyone— to  _ you _ ?”

“I know you did,” Derek replied. “It’s why I can’t get your scent out of my  _ fucking  _ head,” he spat.

Stiles frowned at that. “That doesn’t make sense. I put a protection ward on you,” he truthfully admitted.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion when he didn’t hear the fast beat of a lie pump through Stiles’ heart.

“Everyone in the tavern knew I only ever spent time with you when in the city,” Stiles reasoned. “The Queen wants me dead, I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone pointed a finger at you. I just ...” He cut his words off, squirming some under Derek’s gaze. “I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he looked up at Derek, waiting with bated breath. “I never lied to you, Derek,” he softly confessed. “I think you feel the same thing I do,” he uttered, daring to reach a hand up to take Derek’s hand in his own, moving Derek’s open palm to rest against his chest—over his heart.

“What are you—” Derek cut his words off, the feel of Stiles’ heartbeat beneath his hand was stronger than any rhythm he felt before. The soft, calm thumping of Stiles’ heart beating beneath his chest—beneath Derek’s hand.

“I know you can hear it,” Stiles finally admitted. “In the Dark Forest, you said I was afraid to be alone with a nonhuman,” he continued to hold Derek’s gaze as he spoke. “But I know what you are, and I’m not afraid.”

“You should be,” Derek reluctantly argued.

Stiles bottom lip trembled with the shudder that moved through his body.

Derek released a heavy breath, his nostrils flaring as he tried to get Stiles’ intoxicating scent out of his nose. It wouldn’t leave him. He grabbed ahold of Stiles’ shoulders drawing him in close. “Whatever you want— I don’t want it. I don’t  _ need _ it.”

_ I don’t deserve it _ .

Stiles drew in a steady breath, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to argue Derek’s words when the tent’s flaps were thrown open. He turned his head to look at their new arrival, unsurprised when Derek pulled away from him in order to put distance between them.

“You’re needed,” Lydia quickly said to Stiles.

Stiles bit back his anger as he replied, “In a moment—”

“I need you in the infirmary before I have another patient bleed out,” Lydia snapped at Stiles, whirling around to face him. “You can continue your ill advised lovers’ tryst when lives are saved.” She marched out of the tent without another word.

Stiles hesitated before rushing out after her, knowing she was right—there were more important things to worry about.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek kept his distance from the lodge serving as the village’s infirmary. He watched as some wounded hobbled out just as others were carried in. He was trying to figure out what Stiles was trying to do by bringing him here. There was nothing to see but the remains of a broken down community.

“Not leaving then,” Allison stated as she came to stand next to Derek, her gaze looking at the infirmary. She had noticed Derek’s lingering form, and grew curious why he didn’t leave after his fight with Stiles.

Derek turned his head to the side, regarding Allison for a brief moment. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m to blame for them,” he gestured towards the infirmary.

“No,” Allison stated under her breath. “I blame those responsible—the Queen, her guardsmen.” She turned to look Derek in the eye. “And the huntsmen for allowing themselves to be bought.”

Derek snorted. “I stopped being a huntsman a long time ago,” he stated.

“Kept the name because it sounded better as a profession than executioner?” Allison countered.

Derek took a step closer to Allison, stepping into her space. He was unsurprised when she stood her ground despite it. He took a moment to himself, allowing her scent to linger in his nose. The corner of his mouth curled up in a toothy smirk. “You don’t know me, Argent.”

Allison seemed surprised when Derek spoke her family’s name. “And if you try to judge me based on my family, you don’t know me either,” she forcefully uttered.

“But you judge me because of my past,” Derek countered. “You don’t know what happened to me,  _ or  _ my family. Don’t try to pass off my tragedy as your vindication.”

“Unless you’re going to help them fight, why are you here?” Allison pressed, unwilling to bend to Derek’s insistence that he was innocent for remaining in the village. “You aren’t here for the resistance. And if you aren’t here for Stiles, then  _ why  _ are you here?”

Derek was quiet for a beat, turning to look back at the infirmary. “Who said I wasn’t here because of Stiles,” he replied.

“You,” Allison answered. “You act as if you can’t stand him suddenly.” She shook her head. “He thought you cared.” She looked at Derek, noticing that he was suddenly alert, as if he could hear something troubling far away.

“I never said I didn’t,” Derek stepped around Allison, making his way over to the infirmary.

~*~

Stiles busied himself with tending to the wounded. He worked to mend the wounded, and keep the dying comfortable. He was glad for the distraction of changing bandages, knowing the patient was stable and on the verge of leaving.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouted across the lodge to gain his attention.

Stiles finished tying the patient’s bandages before going over to where Lydia needed him. He ran over to Lydia when he heard the patient yelling in pain. He took hold of the man’s arm, attempting to restrain his thrashing. He hesitated when he saw the extent of the man’s wounds. His stomach lurched when he saw how mangled and shredded the man’s leg was. “What happened?”

“The Queen’s men,” Lydia harshly stated.

“Keep him awake,” the healer ordered Stiles as he busied himself with inspecting the man’s wound.

Stiles looked at the man in disbelief. “My magic calms and helps heal minor wounds—”

“If you can’t help, make room for someone else,” the healer snapped.

“His kneecap is dangling outside his leg!” Stiles yelled at the man. He startled when arms grabbed him, pulling him away from the bedside. He was flabbergasted when he realized Derek was moving around him to get to the man’s bedside. “Derek, what are you—”

“How long does he need to be awake for?” Derek asked as he ignored Stiles’ complaint. He looked at the healer when the man didn’t answer him. “How long for you to cut off the dead weight?”

Stiles watched as the wounded man tried to retaliate, an attempt to get away.

Derek put his hand on the man’s chest, pinning him down into the bed with incredible ease. “Stay still,” he growled out.

“It’s my leg!” The man yelled, his hands clawing down on Derek’s—nails scratching to get free.

“And if you keep it, you’ll be dead from infection in a few days, dying in agony,” Derek replied, refusing to look down at the man. “How long?” He demanded of the healer.

Stiles looked at the healer, watching the man debating whether to listen to Derek or not.

“He’ll go into shock if I—”

“Damn, how long?” Derek yelled at the man, irritation in his voice.

“Once we stop the bleeding, I can do it in a few minutes,” Lydia finally decided to answer Derek. “We need to keep him from thrashing.”

Derek pressed down on the man’s chest harder, his gaze pinning the man with a glare. “The pain won’t overwhelm you—”

“I need my leg,” the man started to beg.

“You need your life more,” Derek replied. “You’ll recover, you’ll live,” he stated. “That’s more than the others can say.”

Lydia looked at the man, watching as he sunk down into the bed with Derek’s words weighing him down. She released a heavy breath when the man finally nodded.

~*~

Stiles’ hands were shaking as he stepped outside, breathing in a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He wasn’t any help to the others, knowing when he was limited in his power now. He left the man in Derek’s care, knowing that the older man was going to use his ability to drain away whatever pain he could. He closed his eyes, drawing in another deep breath when he heard the muffled cries of pain again. His feet moved quickly, rushing him towards the hut he knew John would be in.

John was reading a report when Stiles pushed through the door with hurried actions. He knew something was wrong when he saw the color had drained from Stiles’ face. “What happened?” He dropped the report to give Stiles his undivided attention.

Stiles drew in a quick breath. “She did it again,” he weakly uttered. He shook his head, pressing his face into his hands. “She had her men— almost no survivors,” he sucked in a sharp breath when his father’s hand touched his shoulder. He reached his arms out to wrap around his father’s shoulders.

John held Stiles tightly, his hand cradling the back of Stiles’ head. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” Stiles partially sobbed as he tightened his grip on his father, pressing his face into John’s shoulder.

“It’s not,” John countered. “It’s not,” he softly echoed, holding Stiles tighter.

“When does it end?” Stiles almost begged. “I’m tired—so tired.”

John’s mouth fell into a grim line. “I’m not sure, son,” he gently stated against Stiles’ hair.

“A huntsman,” Stiles started, his words slow and unsure. “He followed me through the Dark Forest.”

John pulled back from Stiles, curiously looking at his son. “You let him follow you?”

Stiles shook his head. “He … he’s a werewolf,” he explained. “He followed me— _ saved me _ from the Queen’s men.” He looked at his father, unsure what to say. “There is something about him … I don’t know why, but something is telling me to trust him.”

John frowned at that. “You don’t know why he’s here, Stiles.”

“He’s helping in the infirmary,” Stiles countered, as if it was reason enough to believe Derek was something other than nefarious. “Why would he help the wounded if he wanted us dead?”

“Perhaps he’s not here for them,” John replied. “He could be here for you.”

Stiles bit his lip. “I don’t … I care for him,” he reluctantly admitted. “There is something about him, from the moment we met, that drew us together. And I can’t get rid of the feeling that I can trust him.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Stiles, what is happening here—”

“Is too important to risk, I know,” Stiles answered with a shake of his head. “If he was going to kill me, he would have done it.”

“Your sister wants more than you dead,” John solemnly uttered.

Stiles closed his eyes, turning to look away from his father. He absently pressed a hand to his chest, conscious of the scar running along his chest—the reminder of what length Jennifer was prepared to go to.

The Raven Queen.

That was when her rebirth began—turning into something darker than the young selfish princess enviously attempting to outdo her brother and usurp her father’s throne. Her cruelty became evident when she tried to cut her younger brother’s heart out with a dagger.

Stiles was only a child, barely escaping his crazed sister, a small scar his reminder of what she wanted from him.

A heart, pure and loved, and filled with magic, would release the Queen from limitations—the darkest of powers being born from such a repugnant deed.

Even after the years, the Queen still wanted his heart.

“She doesn’t know I’ve nearly lost my magic,” Stiles hollowly uttered, turning to look at his father. He gave it all away to keep John from succumbing to her poisonous curse. He could help with aches and minor pains, the smallest protection wards were the easiest things he could perform. But he couldn’t conjure the same magic as before—and he would sacrifice it again, knowing his father was still here because of it.

“Even if she did, I … I fear she’d still want your heart,” John softly stated. “But until she makes a move, we have to play our hands carefully.”

Stiles frowned, nodding in acknowledgement that his father spoke the truth.

~*~

Derek washed his hands in the basin of water, watching as the clear water stained and changed to a muted tone of red as it collected the blood from his skin. He quietly took one of the rags, wiping his hands clean as he tried to forget the phantom pain in his leg. He hadn’t bothered to absorb another’s pain in years, forgetting the numb pain that lingered.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stiles stated from behind Derek. He has seen the blackened veins crawling up Derek’s arms just as Lydia started to cut through the man’s leg. He watched as the man sagged, his muffled screams changing to haggard pain, Derek’s own expression wincing in reaction.

Derek didn’t turn to look at Stiles, busying himself with pointlessly wiping his hands. “He was in pain,” he offered. “Did you want me to let him go into shock?”

“Why are you here?” Stiles demanded, knowing he couldn’t win that argument with Derek.

Derek finally turned to look at Stiles, pausing his response when he saw the red puffiness of Stiles’ nose and eyes. His brow furrowed, unsure why he hadn’t smell the sadness in Stiles’ scent. Nothing but rain still, the sharp electricity hiding in the morning storm. “You’ve been crying.”

Stiles’ features grew pinched with anger. “Astute of you,” he snapped. “I’ve been going crazy over this—so tell me, why are you here, Derek?”

Derek stared at Stiles. “You’re trying to overthrow the Queen,” he replied.

“That’s nothing new.”

Derek was silent for a beat. “Why can’t I get your scent out of my head?”

Stiles looked unsure, not knowing what Derek wanted to hear from him.

“There is something different about your scent,” Derek commented, as if it would suddenly make Stiles understand. “And it perplexes me.”

Stiles sighed, his anger deflating his body as his shoulders sagged. He wrapped his arms around himself, crossing in front of his stomach. “You’re difficult,” he stated the obvious as he looked at Derek. “First you kiss me, then you reject me. Now you’re telling me that I’m different than others. Which is it?”

“I don’t need someone relying on me, Stiles,” Derek replied. “I don’t ever want to be that for someone again.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, looking away from Derek. “If it’s unrequited, why would you care?”

Derek took a step closer to Stiles. “Because it’s not unrequited.”

Stiles gently took Derek’s hand in his own. “Derek, this can’t—” he bit his lip. “If you’re here, you have to know the truth,” he explained as he looked up at Derek. “The Queen … she’s not what she seems.”

“She’s a mage,” Derek simply uttered. He turned his head to the side when Stiles stared at him in surprise. “You forget I’m a werewolf?” He asked with a soft smile and arch of his eyebrow.

“Nobody believed me for a long time,” Stiles explained as he offered a hesitant smile back.

“She wants you,” Derek admitted, surprising himself for a brief moment. He knew he wanted to tell Stiles the truth, but he didn’t realize how much until the words passed his lips. He never once told a mage the truth—why was Stiles different?

“She’s wanted me dead since I was a child,” Stiles replied, his voice soft with a pain that he had hidden long ago.

Derek reached a hand out to cup Stiles’ face in his palm. His thumb caressed the curve of Stiles’ cheek in adoration. “She wants your heart.”

Stiles’ features fractured, a fear tumbling deep in his stomach. “How do you know that?”

A muscle in Derek’s jaw tightened. “Because she told me,” he replied.

Stiles took a step away from Derek, pulling out of his hold. All the fear and anger of the others cautioning him came to the forefront, antagonizing him. “You didn’t find out where I was from the merchant, did you?”

“I found you through the merchant,” Derek replied, shaking his head. “But I tracked you because she gave me a warrant.”

Stiles released a sharp breath, anger in his features. “Everyone warned me,” he uttered.

“I warned you, Stiles,” Derek replied. “I told you not to trust me.”

“You’re here to kill me, and you lecture me on trusting you,” Stiles seethed, angrily taking a step towards Derek. “Don’t you dare try to turn the tables on me.”

Derek was about to say something when his gaze flickered to look above Stiles’ head, catching a glimpse of the older man exiting the infirmary. His features fell, his brow furrowing suddenly. 

“You have nothing to say, do you?” Stiles snapped at Derek for his silence. “I should have been smarter about this,” he chastised himself.

“That’s impossible,” Derek suddenly stated, walking around Stiles to confront the man.

Stiles turned, watching as Derek moved towards John. “Derek, stop,” he loudly urged in a wavering tone as he followed after the other man, fear coiling in his stomach that Derek was about to do something unimaginable.

“Are you a doppler?” Derek demanded of the man.

“Derek, stop,” Stiles demanded of him, grabbing his arm as he attempted to haul Derek backwards, unable to get the man to budge.

John took in Derek’s appearance, trying to place him as he slowed his steps. His gaze flickered to Stiles briefly, curious if this was the man he had mentioned earlier. He recognized the younger man but couldn’t say where he had met him before. His gaze dropped to look at the way Stiles was holding Derek’s hand, a delicate and sure grip that attempted to pull the other away.

“I’m human,” John finally stated.

“You can’t be,” Derek replied, anger in his voice.

“Derek, please leave it,” Stiles pressed, moving to get between Derek and John.

“You’re the king,” Derek growled under his breath.

Stiles’ hand fell from Derek’s, taking a step closer to John. “Derek, that’s— you’re mistaken,” he nervously uttered.

Derek looked at Stiles when he caught the change in his scent. Something soured, the faintest smell of spoiled milk when left unattended—a blatant lie. “You know who he is,” he stated, his tone clipped as he started to process just how much Stiles must have known.

Stiles reached his hand back to grab John’s arm. “He’s not … it’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think?” Derek bitterly demanded.

John was watching Derek carefully.

“He was sick—for a long time,” Stiles explained. “The Raven Queen— she cursed him but I worked to counter it,” he offered.

“Do you have any idea how many nonhumans are dead because of what happened?” Derek incredulously asked of Stiles, wishing to know if he truly was oblivious to the terrors that happened in the wake of the king’s supposed death.

Stiles shook his head. “There are no numbers, but I know how widespread—”

“Do you?!” Derek snapped at Stiles. “Do you know how many children are dead? How many villages have been burned?”

“She would have continued to follow after him if she knew!” Stiles yelled back at Derek.

“And now thousands are dead for it!” Derek viciously countered, the red spark of his wolf tearing at the green of his irises.

“He’s my father!” Stiles shouted back at Derek. His breath was shaky with the fear he tried to hide for so long—the truth would never let him or his father be safe, but now he had admitted it.

“I followed you because I wanted to know the truth,” Derek uttered, disdain in his voice. “I should have realized a mage would have let the world burn for his own selfish gain.”

Stiles took a step forward, ready to confront Derek when John grabbed his hand. He stopped at his father’s prompting, watching as Derek stormed off.

~*~

The wolf was angry. At what, Derek couldn’t tell. Stiles, himself, the world. It didn’t matter anymore. There was anger and betrayal in his heart, and he couldn’t stand to be around it. He could smell smoke, the echoed reminder of what he faced that day.

“I feel terrible for being unable to place you,” John stated as he entered the tent, following after Derek when Stiles was too upset to do so. He knew that there was no way for him to place every soldier who fought in his name—for him.

Derek paused for a moment before going back to packing his belongings. “I never expected a king to,” he offered.

“If a king could, he should,” John replied as he moved to sit at the end of the small cot, a blessing to ease the pain in his leg.

“You gave up your throne, but it didn’t end the war,” Derek replied. “She worked to spread lies and hatred, and it worked.”

John frowned at that, his gaze sweeping across Derek’s belongings. He looked at Derek’s back, recognizing the rigidness in the younger man’s shoulders as something he once carried for a long time—guilt. “You must have been a boy when you fought for me.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek countered as he focused on carelessly packing what was left. “Those that are left, we appear decades younger.”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t a boy,” John replied.

Derek paused for a moment, turning to look over his shoulder at John.

“Stiles was only eleven when Jennifer attempted her coup,” John offered, wanting Derek to know the truth that so few even cared to know. “For five years that war lasted, and at sixteen, my son saved my life from Jennifer’s curse. At the near cost of his own life.”

“Why tell me this?” Derek demanded as he finally turned to face John. “It changes nothing.”

“He’s my son,” John finally admitted to Derek. “I’d do anything to keep him safe.”

“And what about my son,” Derek hollowly replied, looking at John. “Did he deserve to die because people blame nonhumans for your supposed murder?”

“If you think I’m ignorant to what’s happened—that Stiles is ignorant … you clearly don’t know my son very well,” John answered. “There is nothing I can do to change what happened to your family. There is nothing you can do either,” he added as an afterthought. “We mourn those we lose, but we can’t do more than that.”

“They weren’t lost,” Derek bitterly uttered. “They were taken—a mage attempting to please more humans.”

John looked at Derek with understanding. “You fear all magic because of what one mage did.”

“I know its cost,” Derek countered. He shook his head. “There is no honest work for a nonhuman. And when I came home … ”

It was midafternoon, the sun still high over the trees, its natural light giving Derek an easy way forward. He wasn’t looking for the smoke—why would he? He had thoughts of dropping his belongings the moment he passed through the doorway—of holding his son and wife, and forgetting the stench of the city.

He never thought he’d find rubble—charred wood and blackened stone among the embers of the fire. It must have been days, the ground warm from the fire’s heat.

“There is no place for nonhumans, even inside the Raven Queen’s world,” Derek finally stated. “We lost everything the moment your reign ended. Those left are just moving along, waiting for the next wave of terror.”

John frowned at that, taking a moment to contemplate what he could possibly say to the younger man. “What’s happening here has to do with more than just me, or you.” He wasn’t surprised by the annoyed look on Derek’s face. “This is an attempt to build a better future—one where children aren’t murdered for being different.”

Derek’s features twisted. “And how do you heal so many years of pain and destruction?”

John looked openly at Derek. “Hope. And the determination that we’re going to succeed, because if we don’t, there really is nothing to keep fighting for.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles was sitting quietly on the outskirts of the war table as he watched a number of advisers speaking with Lydia about the next course. He could feel their scrutiny whenever they looked over at him, knowing they blamed him for the last scouting party’s demise. He asked for them to observe—to find a way to fortify themselves in the Dark Forest. He never imagined the Queen would have men laying in wait for any victim.

“We have enough men to make a full assault of the palace’s weak points, primarily the water gates,” Jordan explained as he moved a few of the pieces across the war table.

Stiles looked up when he heard his father entering the room, stifling some when he noticed Derek was accompanying him.

“What is he doing here?” Lydia pressed in question when she saw Derek.

“I invited him,” John answered, gesturing for Jordan to go back to attending the war table when the younger man attempted to help him towards a chair. “We need soldiers, and the last time I checked, we were lacking in those,” he stated.

Derek took a spot near the back of the room, an attempt to avoid joining the others as he listened to their debates. He was aware of Lydia’s gaze on him, knowing that she didn’t trust him, especially near Stiles.

Time slowly crawled forward, numbing Derek’s senses down to nothing but the bickering of the others. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he could silence the fighting.

“She wants something,” one of the men started to argue. “She is coming for us, but if we can give her what she wants, she could spare us—make a deal.”

“You’d talk of betraying him,” Jordan started, angered as he gestured towards John.

“She’s had his death announced,” a woman countered. “Yet she still follows us.”

Derek was surprised by their words. To his knowledge, John was what kept them together and going through the years. He supposed even the most loyal of subjects grew tired of the struggle. To make matters interesting, it seemed as if they didn’t know about Stiles or the Queen’s plans for him.

“She’ll kill us to make an example of before she gives us anything,” Lydia countered from her spot besides Stiles.

“You don’t know that!”

The Queen’s voice came ringing back to Derek, as loud as the day she uttered those words.

_ Bring him back to me—alive. And I’ll give you what your heart truly longs for. _

Derek reached his hand out, knocking over the glass on the table beside him, watching as the glass fell to the ground and shattered into countless pieces.

An eerie silence took over them, even drawing Allison’s attention towards Derek.

Derek looked up at those gathered. “That’s all your chances at a deal with her,” he simply stated as he gestured towards the broken glass. “You don’t know what she wants,” he added, his gaze pausing on Stiles before looking at Jordan. “Won’t matter what happens, she is set on killing everyone here—so if you don’t have a defense or a retreat, your chances of survival match that glass as well.”

“What do you know?”

“I know she lies to get what she wants,” Derek replied, moving to stand. “Why bother bartering when you can just take what you want?” He left behind the others, leaving to make sense of their provisions and wares in preparation for what was to come.

Stiles was staring after Derek, his features open and vulnerable.

~*~

Allison leaned against the fence behind the table displaying their various weapons they managed to procure. She rested her chin against her forearms as she watched Derek taking in the inventory. “After all of it, you’re still here,” she uttered in interest.

Derek didn’t appear surprised by her words as he tested the weight of a few weapons.

“Do you love him?” Allison questioned, turning her head slightly to the side when Derek’s actions faltered for a brief moment. “I think part of you thinks you could,” she cautioned. “But that’s not good for you, is it?”

Derek turned to look at Allison. “Countless people are going to die in the upcoming days,” he plainly stated, knowing that she too understood the likely outcome of such a battle. “And you think I care about being attracted to someone?”

Allison drew in a soft breath, straightening from her slouch as she evened out her shoulders. She set Derek with an intense gaze. “I think it scares you shitless that there is someone who got under your skin without you realizing it.”

Derek wanted to deny it, even if it was just aloud for everyone else to hear. He knew for a long time that Stiles was different from the moment their hands brushed by accident in the tavern that first day. He’d never be able to forget a single part of Stiles.

“It makes sense, you know? They trained us that way,” Allison added as an afterthought.

Derek leaned against the table before him, looking up at Allison. “They wanted us faithful to no one but them.”

“And it worked,” Allison replied.

Derek shook his head. “I was faithful to my wife,” he simply stated. “To my son.” He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as his teeth clenched. “I keep my distance from Stiles to prevent myself from placing faith in someone else again.”

Allison was confused by Derek’s words. “Your wife and son didn’t break your faith.”

“I put everything I had into my love for them—my whole world,” Derek looked at Allison. “And when something like that gets ripped away … well, things change.”

“And you don’t want to take that risk with Stiles,” Allison concluded. “So you won’t.”

“I can’t,” Derek quietly answered.

“And you won’t let him.”

Derek looked at Allison. “Why the change of heart?”

Allison pursed her lips before sighing. “You’re a product of the huntsmen, like me,” she admitted. “I’ve got a lot of anger for them. And my anger at you was misplaced—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Derek countered. “You were right to distrust me—you were the only one with actual reason to distrust me, knowing what I’ve done.”

“You’re not your reputation,” Allison offered with a shrug of her shoulders. “I, of all people, should know that.”

~*~

Stiles took a step into Derek’s tent, unabashed at the impropriety of the hour. He waited for Derek to look at him before speaking. “You stayed,” he uttered, a pout twisting at his lips.

“I forgot how convincing your father could be,” Derek replied, securely closing his journal before setting it down. He looked at Stiles with a furrowed brow. “But you appear disappointed with that.”

Stiles sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t get to just show up, and flip everything on its head without me getting turned about.”

“Then what do I get to do?” Derek questioned.

“Not that,” Stiles softly argued, rubbing his hands against his face in a tiring manner. “I thought you were different,” he weakly stated. “And then you turn out to be a puppet for my sister.”

“Do you honestly think I was going to bring you to her?” Derek questioned.

Stiles hesitated. “I hoped not.”

“Do you think I’m going to help you lead a revolt, only to hand you over to the queen we are overthrowing?”

Stiles sighed, deflating as he sat next to Derek on the bed. “This isn’t the first time we’ve tried,” he admitted.

“This is the first time she’s tried to kill you,” Derek replied.

Stiles shook his head. “This isn’t going to work,” he confessed in defeat.

“I know,” Derek replied.

For all their preparations and for all John’s hope that they would be able to defeat the Raven Queen’s plans, Derek was a realist. And nothing about their odds were in a favorable light.

“You could bring her my heart still,” Stiles suddenly stated, a tinge of sadness twisting his playful tone.

“I was never going to bring her your heart,” Derek countered, looking at Stiles. “I was mad because you used magic on me, and I wanted to know the truth. That doesn’t mean I was going to give you to her.”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “Maybe you should have.”

Derek’s brow furrowed.

“This is my fault,” Stiles confessed. “She’s wanted my magic since we were little—she resented me for being mother’s favorite. She … she would have had her way; she wouldn’t have cursed our father—maybe then there wouldn’t have been a genocide—”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ arms, pulling him out of his ramble as he forced the younger man to look at him. “She is her own person,” he finally stated. “You are not responsible for another’s actions.” He reached a hand up, cupping Stiles’ cheek in his palm. “She would have had her power, she would have still divided the kingdom into war. She would have still cursed your father. Evil generates more evil.”

“She wasn’t always like this,” Stiles weakly countered.

“People change,” Derek replied.

“I remember when we were little, I used to follow her around the gardens,” Stiles offered, shrugging some. “I was mesmerized by her—her beauty and strength… I thought she was everything good in the world. But then … she started pulling away; slamming doors in my face to keep me out.” He looked at Derek. “I loved her so much.”

“I’m sure part of her loved you. Once,” Derek replied.

“I’d give anything to have her back,” Stiles softly stated. “I used to feel that way about my mother before realizing …” He grew silent, his hand moving to clasp at his mother’s locket around his neck. “Well, there are things even magic can’t cure.”

Derek’s eyes tracked Stiles’ movements. “There are some things desperate people are willing to believe.”

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, pulling himself from his thoughts. He stared at Derek for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing before he spoke. “What did she offer you?”

Derek’s mouth thinned into a displeased scowl. He shook his head. “A valuable trade.”

Stiles shuffled his weight some. “If it was gold, we have some stored—”

“I told you I wasn’t going to hand you over to her,” Derek gruffly snapped.

“That’s not it,” Stiles countered. “You’re helping, and if this succeeds, things will be different. You deserve some compensation.”

“The compensation your sister offered is something no one can give,” Derek answered.

“We can try—”

“You can’t!” Derek yelled.

Stiles looked startled for a moment, unsure how to react to Derek’s outburst. He moved to stand, ready to depart for fear that he was causing more harm than good. “I’m sorry,” he softly stated, as if he was speaking to the empty space.

“I knew she was lying,” Derek roughly replied, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter what she said.”

Stiles paused by the tent’s entrance, his hand gripping the material tightly. He turned to look at Derek, sudden realization dawning. “She … she offered your family back.”

Derek refused to look at Stiles. “I know what magic can do—and I know it’s not possible.”

“But you hoped,” Stiles finished.

Derek shook his head, finally looking up at Stiles. “For some, death is a release, not a punishment.”

Stiles took a step towards Derek. “You knew she’d kill you no matter what the outcome,” he stated in revelation.

“I figured it was time,” Derek replied, offering a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m a bad person, Stiles. And I figured if whatever you were doing managed to scare her into hiring a werewolf to succeed where she failed … well, maybe it was worth doing something different.”

Stiles moved to stand in front of Derek. He reached his hands out to take ahold of Derek’s shoulders. He moved with ease, lowering himself to kneel between Derek’s parted legs. He settled in his spot, hands moving to caress down Derek’s arms. He gripped Derek’s forearms tightly, looking up at him. “I think despite your best attempts not to, you’ve become a good man.”

Derek scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he looked just over Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ve killed a lot of people, Stiles. I’ve ruined even more lives.”

Stiles turned Derek’s hands in his own, lifting Derek’s palm upwards in order to inspect the lifelines he found there. His fingertips brushed over the calloused skin of Derek’s palm before pressing his cheek into Derek’s hand. His lips grazed a kiss against the curve of Derek’s wrist. “I’ve seen enough horrors to last me a few life times.” He looked up at Derek.

Derek’s gaze focused on Stiles’ lips, his thumb brushing against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “Stiles, what I’ve done—”

Stiles pressed a gentle finger against Derek’s lips to silence his argument. “We’ve all done horrible things, Derek. I’ve done horrible things for the people I love—for myself.”

Derek used his free hand to hold Stiles’, leaving a lingering kiss to Stiles’ fingertips. He hesitated, his eyes flickering over Stiles’ visage before he reluctantly informed Stiles, “Lydia is looking for you.”

Stiles turned his head to look at the tent entrance, as if he could possibly tell where Lydia was just from Derek telling him she was looking for him. He looked back at Derek when the older man released his hand.

“She needs your help with the medicine,” Derek explained, his other hand lingering in cupping Stiles’ cheek.

“Are you going to fight?” Stiles softly asked, his cheek willingly lingering in Derek’s palm.

“I’m not leaving you,” Derek honestly stated.

Stiles nodded, moving to stand up finally. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do a ward of protection for you.”

Derek numbly nodded in agreement, willing to give Stiles whatever he would ask for in the moment.

Stiles eased his hand through the parting of Derek’s vest, pressing his hand against Derek’s linen shirt beneath. His fingertips dipped down through the laces of Derek’s shirt, brushing skin and tracing through Derek’s chest hair. His palm pressed over Derek’s heart, the small prayer falling from his lips like his native tongue, the words flowing with ease. A warmth passed from Stiles’ hand into Derek’s chest, circling Derek’s heart in a protective embrace.

Stiles’ hand slowly dropped from Derek’s chest as he took a step back from him. He opened his mouth to speak, wishing to say what he felt. He shook his head, choosing against speaking the truth as he moved to leave. His thoughts were racing when Derek grabbed his hand and pulled him back. He stumbled some, turning to look at Derek.

“Derek, I—”

Derek pulled Stiles in close for a kiss, pressing their lips together. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist, drawing him in against his chest. He deepened their kiss when Stiles gripped his shoulders and pressed into his embrace.

Kissing Stiles was poignant. Every touch arrested Derek’s senses, painfully so in the melancholy fear of losing this moment—in losing Stiles.

Stiles kissed Derek back, his hand gripping the hair at the base of Derek’s neck as he willfully lost his balance to lean against Derek. “I don’t want to know how much I truly want this, only to lose it,” he weakly mumbled against Derek’s lips, a small tear rolling down his cheek.

Derek brushed his thumb across the curve of Stiles’ cheek, wiping away the stray tear. “I can’t promise you that we’ll survive tomorrow … but I’ll try.”

Stiles nodded. “I’d like to go for a drink after all this,” he uttered, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth when Derek lightly laughed. “And talk—about everything.”

“Everything is a loaded word,” Derek replied.

Everything implied being vulnerable—giving someone a piece of himself. It had been a long time since he had been willing to try. But something about Stiles made that possibility something to look forward to.

“A promise, then,” Stiles choicely answered.

Derek hesitated before faintly nodding. “Alright.”


	5. Chapter 5

Derek rolled onto his side, arm reaching out for Stiles. He blearily blinked awake when his hand padded at the empty space where Stiles had fallen asleep. He could have sworn he felt Stiles’ hand pressed over his heart, a tender touch that kept him lulled asleep. He was confused when he hadn’t curled around Stiles’ like his wolf wanted, part of him sane enough to not frighten Stiles away with such affection.

Derek had been surprised when Stiles came back into his tent last night, slipping into Derek’s bed and cuddling up against him. It was natural, as if they had done it so many times before—Derek’s arm lifting with ease as Stiles’ head settled against his shoulder.

Stiles’ scent calmed when he rested his head against Derek’s chest, a strange comfort falling over them both. He rested his hand over Derek’s heart, thoughts concentrating on the steady beating beneath his palm. He wasn’t sure he’d actually sleep tonight—conscious of Derek’s arm wrapping around him to hold on even tighter.

This was a comfort that Derek had lost so long ago, and wasn’t sure he’d ever have again—if he’d ever want it again. He spent too many nights seducing his marks, forgetting what it meant to actually care. He’d never let one of them this close—or intimately.

Sex was sex. This was more.

Derek sat up when he heard approaching steps.

Allison pulled back the entrance to the tent, arching an eyebrow at Derek when he didn’t react. “It’s starting,” she offered. “They’re calling for a rally. I figured you’d want to know.”

Derek nodded, not looking at Allison as he caught his bearings. “Is Stiles awake?”

Allison hesitated for a moment. “Haven’t seen him, but I imagine he is.”

Derek finally looked at Allison. “Can you check?”

Allison wanted to ask why, but chose against it. She nodded in acceptance before departing.

Something was wrong—Stiles’ scent wasn’t lingering as it typically did when he was close by. It was almost as if Stiles masked his scent for once, and that worried Derek more than anything.

~*~

Derek grew irritated when someone else told him Stiles was nowhere to be found. He had a sinking feeling that Stiles wasn't going to be found anywhere in the village. He felt stupid for thinking they could have had a chance. He knew last night felt more like a goodbye than a comfort.

"The Queen's men are in the forest," Lydia's voice pulled Derek from his thoughts.

Derek turned to look at her. "Where is Stiles?"

Lydia's features scowled into an angered expression. "So you would throw him to her—"

"I can't find him, and I'm worried the idiot left in an attempt to save these people," Derek snapped at her.

Lydia pursed her lips some. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, nobody has seen him," Derek answered. He turned around them, trying to take in any trace of Stiles' scent, annoyed when he couldn't find anything. He knew Stiles had headed out on his own when he was unable to catch even the faintest smell. He paused when he saw the ravens circling the decaying wood just outside the Dark Forest. He knew it had something to do with the Queen—either she found Stiles, or she had come for him.

Derek grabbed the closest ax, walking passed Lydia and heading for the woods. "Get the others rallied, but stay back."

Lydia hesitated as she watched Derek hiking over to where the ravens appeared to accumulate. She ran to John's lodgings, wanting to know if Stiles was truly gone.

~*~

The Queen paced at a fast rate, her steps twitching with anger. “I hired you for a job, huntsman,” she sharply started. “I want him brought back to the castle—now.”

Derek looked at the woman, taking a step to the side as he attempted to get a better look at her face. He wasn’t sure how much time he had before the others figured out that he left the village—he was determined to avoid anyone making assumptions. “You don’t look well, your Majesty,” he commented.

The Queen turned on Derek, anger in her eyes. She knew Derek spoke the truth, having seen just how quick her magic was decaying her. Wrinkles were evident on her once flawless skin, her hair growing more ashen the longer she went without consuming another’s magic. She only needed Stiles, and then she could live forever young and beautiful, with untold power never escaping her. “That is none of your concern.”

“If you die before I get the mage to you, I won’t get paid,” Derek replied, trying the Queen’s patience on purpose. He hoped her anger would trick her into revealing the truth—or that she’d drop her guard long enough for Derek to end the battle before it started.

“I have men in the woods,” the Queen unevenly stated. “I will give the order for them to raze that village to the ground, and then you’ll have one more home scorched, and even more bodies to count.”

“What makes you even think he’s here?” Derek countered, trying to ignore the growls he felt brewing in his chest.

“I’ve been keeping my eyes on you, wolf,” the Queen replied. “You’ve already tricked him with feigning love, now lead him back to town.”

Derek’s brows pinched together as he observed the Queen for a tell.

The Queen halted her movement, turning her head to the side as she watched Derek. A sickly smile started to pull at her lips. “He’s not here,” she simply stated.

Derek’s features were calm, unmoved by the Queen’s statement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can sense his magic,” the Queen simply put. “I’ve been able to sense his magic since we were children—he’s  _ not  _ in the village.”

Derek scoffed. “He would be stupid to leave the village with your men prowling the woods. And we both know he’s too smart for that.”

The Queen shook her head, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, her face turning up towards the sky. A raven, with large wings of blackened feathers, flew above them—its caw was enough to tell the Queen the truth.

“He’s wandering the forest,” the Queen softly uttered with a small laughter erupting from her chest. “He’s coming back to me,” she stated with satisfaction.

Derek took his chance, throwing his ax at the Queen’s back in hopes of at least wounding her enough to prevent her escape.

The Queen turned with great speed, as if she knew what Derek had been thinking of doing before he did. She faced the ax flying at her, gaze looking at the human weapon with disinterest.

In a flurry, the Queen vanished into a bursting swarm of ravens flying out in all directions.

Derek dodged as a few ravens flew at him, as if to distract him. “Fuck!” He cursed as he watched the ravens, all but one, fly away into the distance. He turned his attention towards the raven that lay dead with an ax in its chest, its blood staining the snow a bright crimson. He noticed the blood started to curdle and turn black as the raven began to decay into nothing.

“What happened?” Allison demanded as she approached Derek, quickly making her way through the trees.

“The Queen’s here,” Derek snapped turning to look at her. His anger started to dwindle when he saw a figure running through the snow towards them both. He paused beside Allison, his stomach roiling with nerves when he saw that it was Lydia.

“He’s gone!” Lydia shouted at them both once Allison turned to look at whoever Derek was staring at.

“Who?” Allison asked.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out. He knew now that the Queen was telling the truth.

~*~

Stiles made his way through the Dark Forest, determined to make it to the castle before any of the others were aware of his absence. He wasn’t going to let anyone else die for him. He was going to tell Jennifer the truth—there was no more magic in his heart. And if she killed him for it, regardless, it would put an end to her patrols for him. His heart, even now, hurt with the thought of leaving his father behind. He thought of Derek, and the words he had spoken at the meeting around the war table.

Perhaps Jennifer wouldn’t care. But he had to try something that would cut their losses in half. And if he could reason with his sister, he would find a way. And if not … he had a plan to end her reign before she could end his life.

Stiles looked around the trees, unable to hear any approaching footsteps. The wind whipped through the barren branches, pulling at the cloak wrapped around him. He squeezed his eyes shut like he did when he was a child, counting backwards as always.

_ Mieczysław. _

Stiles opened his eyes, suddenly finding himself back in the castle. He looked down at his hands, noticing they were smaller. His clothes were finer, a rich fabric and golden thread weaving detail throughout his doublet. He looked down the darkened hallway, barely able to see with the glowing light from the torches lining the walls.

A soft melody echoed off the walls. A female voice sang the long forgotten words.

Stiles had never been certain of their meaning, but he knew Jennifer did—she always knew the answer to every question Stiles asked her. His feet started to move, taking him closer to the singing. He wasn’t surprised it came from the gardens, leading him towards the kneeling figure of a petite young woman. He was happy when Jennifer turned to look at him, abandoning the old text she kept hidden here—even from their parents.

_ Mieczysław. _

Jennifer reached out, beckoning Stiles to take hold of her offered hand. She smiled, sweetly, at her brother.

Stiles took her hand, a smile of his own matching hers as he moved forward into her embrace in order to hug her tightly.

_ Welcome home, Mieczysław. _

Stiles’ vision blurred, blackness consuming his senses before he fell, like dead weight.

Jennifer wrapped her arms around Stiles as he slumped, collecting him in her embrace as she cradled his head against her chest. She tucked his face against her throat, securing him with tender care. She ran her fingers through his hair, her nails catching on the tangles. She looked out at the Dark Forest, able to see her men in the distance as they waded through the trees towards them. She ignored the pain of the wound in her side as she kept Stiles tucked against her, knowing she could change things once they reached the castle. She wrapped her cloak around Stiles, wanting to keep him warm from the winter’s cold as she waited for the horses.

“We’ll go home—together,” Jennifer softly promised as she pressed a kiss into Stiles’ hair. “I'll take care of you. Just like I always promised.”

~*~

Stiles winced in pain as he started to stir awake, blinking his eyes open to take in the space around him. He stared at the ceiling above him, surprised to find an ornately detailed bed canopy hanging above him. He slowly sat up, rising with ease. He looked down at himself, not at all shocked that whoever placed him in the bedroom removed his cloak.

Stiles paused as he leaned out the door to check the hallway for anyone. He took a timid step into the empty space, unsure of himself when he realized there was no one around.

_ Mieczysław. _

Stiles hesitated before following after the voice, having had this dream more than once now as he recalled his childhood memories of following after Jennifer in the gardens. All he could think of were the times he trailed after Jennifer, wanting to be a part of whatever she did. He was blind to her actions.

A figure was kneeling in the garden’s opening. Her cloak stretched out behind her, hanging from her shoulders and obscuring the rest of her body. She had her head bent, words tumbling from her lips as she spoke an incantation. Her hands were tightly clutching the fabric of her skirts, twisting her hold to the point her knuckles strained white with tension.

Stiles took a few steps towards her, hesitating briefly before speaking her name, “Jen.” He looked upwards, taking in the sight of the snowflakes falling around them when she didn’t answer him.

The Queen’s words softened before halting completely. She remained kneeling as she turned to look over her shoulder at Stiles. The charcoal highlight around her eyes was smudged, her skin an ashen pale with chapped lips pressed into a sharp line of disappointment. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she softly uttered.

“I couldn’t find anyone,” Stiles answered, his voice quiet with uncertainty.

“Everyone left,” the Queen replied. “Everyone always leaves, Mieczysław,” she stated in afterthought, turning her attention back towards the small altar in front of her. “You left—you and father— left me all alone.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed, frowning as he shook his head. “You attacked me,” he rationalized. “You cursed father… we had to leave.”

The Queen gasped for breath as a pain shot through her stomach. “ _ Mieczysław, _ ” she sobbed. “It’s tearing me apart from the inside,” she weakly cried, wrapping her arm around her stomach as she doubled over in pain.

Stiles moved to kneel beside his sister, his hands touching her shoulders with care. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you,” he gently offered.

The Queen shook her head. “That won’t help.”

“Whatever it is—”

“It’s always hungry!” She yelled, a soft sob hiccuping from her chest. “Power, chaos—it wants everything. I let it in, Mieczysław. I didn’t know, but I let it in.”

“I’ll help you—father will help,” Stiles tried to argue.

“I know what it wants,” the Queen wheezed, tears falling. “Your heart— that’s all it ever wanted.”

Stiles remained silent.

“A heart—pure, loved, and brimming with magic; by fairest blood it is done,” she shook her head as she remembered the voice’s demands. “It wants more—always more. To feed off of the chaos it makes.”

“You can’t have my heart,” Stiles carefully spoke in a soft tone.

“Oh, Mieczysław,” she frailly answered, her movements sluggish and slow. “It won’t ask,” she warned, taking in a wheezing breath before a heavy exhale left her. “It’ll take.” Her body sagged forward, as if she slipped into unconsciousness.

Stiles’ hands touched her shoulders in a gentle manner, attempting to keep her from falling over. He startled when she suddenly lunged at him, clawing at the hands wrapped around his throat. He fell to the side, his shoulder blade driving into the ground as he tried to get away from her. He struggled as much as he could, flashbacks of Jennifer holding him down as she brandished a blade to cut out his heart. He stared up at Jennifer, his eyes widening in fear at what he saw looking back at him.

The Queen’s eyes were blackened, darker than the night, as they looked down at Stiles. Her skin was ghostly white, darkened veins traveling up her neck and into her face. She had no expression on her face, completely void.

~*~

Darkness. Complete darkness.

Cold and fear crept up his spine, consuming his senses.

Was this what Jennifer felt? It scared Stiles too much to know the answer.

He was drowning in the unknown.

~*~

Derek had run as fast as possible when he reached the castle's gates. He had pushed the horse to near exhaustion, even knowing he'd never catch up to Stiles when he discovered the Queen found him. There were countless foot soldiers scouring the Dark Forest. It took a few of them to tell Derek the truth of Stiles' whereabouts.

_ Taken back to the castle _ , they had laughed at Derek as if all was lost now.

Derek was lucky to find no resistance inside the castle's walls. The sentinel suits of armor were collapsed and crumpled into various shapes on the ground, strewed about as if the men had vanished into ash. Derek could smell the sulfur emitting from them—the Queen no doubt used magic to give them life.

Derek followed his instincts, unsurprised when the smell of magic grew the closer he got to the garden. Something putrid altered Stiles' once comforting and pleasant scent. It was more than overpowering, as if whatever magic emitted the smell tried to consume Stiles.

Derek stumbled to a stop just outside the garden when he saw the Queen attacking some shadowy figures attempting to get closer to her and Stiles. His eyes went to Stiles, transfixed on just how motionless he was on the ground.

The Queen used her magic to conjure a shield of ice, using her free hand to throw shards of ice into the humanoid’s face, knocking the mask off of it. She barely flinched when seeing the scarred, old and distorted face with golden eyes that glowed like embers.

The second shadow was close to Stiles, reaching out a determined hand to grab a hold of the unconscious man.

The Queen flung her current foe off, turning her attention towards the shadow closest to Stiles. “Get away from my brother!” She yelled as she used a blast of ice to create a shield of sharp icicles.

Derek watched as the Queen ran for the altar, catching sight of the small ornate box placed atop the stump. He remembered the stories his mother used to tell him—stories of an ancient force, long forgotten by humans; an ethereal spirit who lived in a large oak tree, and brought harmony and health to all who visited. Many humans forgot the tale, and so they forgot the tree’s presence.

His mother always cautioned him of the evils one could conjure without paying back the respect to the forest. It was why the Dark Forest decayed and mutated to its current state.

He also remembered the stories his sisters told—of ancient creatures who lurked in the shadows and worked to create chaos and pain wherever they could. And only the benevolent spirit of the old oak could contain such an evil.

_ Shadow fox _ .

“Get Mieczysław!” Jennifer yelled at Derek as she collected the box in her hands. She conjured another wave of ice, distracting the mysterious humanoids with a different obstacle to smash through.

Derek quickly pressed forward, his steps rushed as he made his way towards Stiles’ unconscious form. He slid onto his side, easing into a stop besides Stiles. He pulled his gaze away from the creature, looking at Stiles for the first time.

The eyes that looked up at Derek weren’t Stiles’—but another creature’s entirely.

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Derek was caught off guard.

~*~

Derek barely struggled when the humanoid creature acted as a soldier for whatever was possessing Stiles. He watched as the impostor grew accustomed to Stiles’ body—it was obvious how different they moved from one another.

Things began to make sense when Derek caught the sharpness in Stiles’ scent now—how wrong and defiled it was. He could smell the sulfur that once overpowered the Queen’s scent, only now mixing with Stiles’ once pleasantly intoxicating smell.

It stunk, and the wolf hated it.

“You’re a shadow fox,” Derek finally stated once he was certain he could see the negative aura surrounding Stiles’ normally bright and welcoming hues of orange and yellow.

“Nogitsune,” it corrected Derek.

“You’re a shadow fox,” Derek stated again, uncaring if he pissed the spirit off.

The Nogitsune turned to look at Derek, coming closer to him. “You’re a huntsman,” it said in a displeased tone.

“Nobody is perfect,” Derek retorted, trying to formulate a plan.

There was only one way to defeat a shadow fox—and he needed to know Stiles would survive it.

“So brave, and noble,” the Nogitsune’s voice twistedly noted as it used Stiles’ voice to speak. “That’s the thing you fear most, isn’t it? Someone else seeing just how broken you are—how retched your heart has become compared to before.”

“I’ve been informed I don’t have a heart,” Derek sharply answered.

The Nogitsune smiled at that, moving to kneel before Derek. “I like you,” it smiles with Stiles’ features. “ _ He _ really likes you, too,” it added as it used Stiles’ hands to gesture towards himself. “But I think I’d like watching him suffer knowing just how your heart tastes.”

Derek grunted in pain when the Nogitsune dug nails sharper than any human’s into his chest. He looked down to watch as Stiles’ bent fingers clawed down into his chest, just over his heart. He knew the Nogitsune was using whatever magic Stiles had locked away inside, all in an attempt to tear his ribcage open.

“You lied,” the Nogitsune smiled. “You have a big heart, Derek Hale. I wonder how strong it is?”

A spark ignited over Derek’s heart, the sudden sharpness disappearing to be replaced by the glowing warmth of a healing light.

A high pitched shriek tore through the echoing void as the Nogitsune suddenly recoiled in pain.

Stiles’ protection spell.

Several of the humanoid creatures started to waver, the Nogitsune’s shaking hold started to release them.

Derek pressed a hand over his chest, an attempt to keep the tingling warmth for himself—a moment’s reprieve from the iciness that nearly consumed him at the Nogitsune’s bidding.

Jennifer’s attempts to stand were pointless, her strength having left her a while ago. She crawled to a stop when she heard the scream come from the creature. She looked at Stiles, seeing that he was writhing on the ground in pain. She turned her attention towards Derek, calling out to him.

Derek looked at Jennifer.

“Bite him,” Jennifer uttered.

The Nogitsune was attempting to stand, shaking off the spell’s effects. It was surprised by Derek grabbing a hold of Stiles’ arm.

Derek yanked Stiles upright, drawing him into a hug. His hand gripped the back of Stiles’ neck, his arm encircled around Stiles’ waist. Without hesitation, he sank his fangs into the bend of Stiles’ neck, digging into the pressure point.

The Nogitsune clawed at Derek’s back before all fight ceased. It released a loud yell that suddenly disappeared into empty silence.

Stiles slumped in Derek’s hold, sagging into limpness. He remained motionless, as if a ragdoll.

Derek drew Stiles into a tight embrace against his chest. He settled them to the ground, supporting Stiles’ weight as if it was nothing. He pushed Stiles’ hair back, out of his face. His thumb brushed against the soft curve of Stiles’ cheek, unsure what he had done now that the result wasn’t what he expected. He stared down at Stiles, praying for the first time in years that he hadn’t made a mistake.

Blood pooled in the hollow of Stiles’ neck, trickling down to stain the snowy ground.

“Mieczysław,” Jennifer breathily spoke as she forced herself to crawl the rest of the way. She ignored the pain in her muscles, the agony each movement burned into her body was nothing compared to the fear she felt in her heart. She moved to kneel before Derek, looking down at Stiles’ unresponsive form. Her hand covered the bite wound on Stiles’ neck, using what little magic she had left to knit back together the marred skin.

Stiles didn’t react, completely unresponsive as he remained clutched in Derek’s embrace.

Jennifer reached for Stiles’ face, cradling his face in her hands as she turned his head towards her, gentle in the way she inspected him for a sign of life. “Please, Mieczysław— please, don’t,” she barely whispered, a soft sob sneaking through her chest. She couldn’t care for the blood she smudged across his ashen pale cheek, desperate for the first time in her life.

Derek wasn’t sure he paid her any attention, not as he focused staring down at Stiles. The cold from the snow started to seep into his bones, making him aware that time hadn’t stopped—and yet, Stiles wasn’t moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter to come this weekend!


	6. Chapter 6

Jennifer's hair had ashen streaks through it, a reminder of the shadow fox that had been draining her over the years. She held her head high, with an esteem Derek hadn't seen in most leaders, though he knew she owed her life to John for accepting her with no signs of treason. The people would bemoan such a thing, if they knew she was the same Queen that destroyed so many—enough had gone their whole life without capturing even a glimpse of her. And all who did were either in hiding or dead.

Derek watched as Jennifer spoke to Stiles, her voice gentle and calming as she read to him. Her hand never left Stiles' own, a cradling embrace she clearly had no intention of giving up.

Jennifer turned her head to look at Derek's lingering form in the doorway. "Appears you have a visitor," she informed Stiles as she closed her book. She stood up, her hand slipping from Stiles' as she leaned forward to place a delicate kiss to Stiles' forehead. She deposited the book onto the nightstand to be remembered the next time she visited.

Jennifer brushed her hand through Stiles' hair, adoration in her features before she departed from the bedside. She paused by Derek, looking at the man with what could be assumed as pity.

"What will happen to him?" Derek plainly asked, his eyes fixed on Stiles' unconscious form.

"He'll sleep," Jennifer answered, turning her gaze back to Stiles. "I'll make sure he's safe," she added.

"And if he never wakes up?" Derek questioned.

Jennifer allowed the silence to grow. "He'll need someone to watch over him, then."

The muscle in Derek's jaw twitched. "I did this to him."

Jennifer hummed in agreement. "And if you hadn't, that shadow fox would be spreading across this kingdom like a plague." She pointedly stared at Derek until he looked at her. "It wanted Stiles, from when we were children. I … I'm weaker than Stiles. It's why the fox wanted to use me to get to him. It convinced me that the only way to stop it was consuming Stiles' heart—when it really just wanted to have him."

Derek's brow furrowed. "You kept that thing locked away in your body for decades."

Jennifer pursed her lips. "I wasn't going to let it have him." She turned to look at Stiles. "I envied him, for a long time. But he's my little brother… I wasn't going to let that thing hurt him," she grimly confessed.

Derek saw the love Jennifer had for Stiles, knowing that look better than most would assume. "That's why you pushed him away."

Jennifer looked at Derek. "The fox got the better of me the night it took over. The various medicines I had administered didn't work as well as I thought. And that night… well, it went for Stiles' heart." She shook her head to rid herself of the tears burning her eyes. "I pulled it back last minute, and Stiles escaped in time."

"He had hoped you still loved him, despite it all," Derek told her.

"He has a pure heart," Jennifer replied. "I'll do what I can to bring him back."

Derek nodded, lingering in his spot.

"And you'll stay," Jennifer stated instead of asking, as if she knew Derek's decision before he did.

Derek hesitated before nodding.

"Then I'll leave you to talk," Jennifer replied before exiting the room.

Derek watched Jennifer leave, his gaze stuck on the doors as they shut behind the woman. He lingered, aware of how he was avoiding Stiles. He drew in a steady breath, forcing his heartbeat to calm before turning to Stiles.

Stiles was dressed in fine robes befitting the son of a king, the fabric a pristine shade of white that washed Stiles out even more thanks to the pale complexion of his skin. His lips were a pale pink, eyelashes a dark contrast against his drained cheeks. His hair was brushed to the side, looking as if he had been dressed by a parent, dedication in keeping his hair from becoming disarrayed.

Derek settled on kneeling beside the bed, placing his elbows on the edge of the mattress as he looked at Stiles. He had little hope for a miracle, knowing fate to be more cruel than anything—someone as loyal and generous as Stiles couldn’t live in their world. He pressed his mouth against his folded hands as he merely observed Stiles for an immeasurable moment.

Despite how ethereal he looked, Stiles appeared to be in a stead of death.

His chest didn’t rise with breath, no matter how long Derek searched for a sign of life.

Derek put his hand in Stiles', turning the younger man's hand in order to see his palm. He traced the lifeline he knew his mother had used to predict longevity and quality of life. He noticed that Stiles' was strong, boldly cutting across his palm. "So you're faking it," he softly commented, wishing Stiles could hear him now. He curled his fingers between Stiles' as he entwined them together. He leaned down to press a kiss to Stiles' palm.

"You're supposed to be here to tell me I overreacted," Derek offered to the silent room. “You’d be here if not for me,” he hollowly countered. “I told you I was a bad person,” his voice weakly uttered, words absorbed into the quiet space surrounding them.

“I never told you about the war,” he offered, mindlessly searching for what he could say now that he had lost his chance. “I was young, but not foolish enough to be ignorant to what would happen—a displaced king fighting for his throne against a powerful mage queen; of course many would die.”

Derek looked at Stiles, unsure what he expected when he felt disappointment curl in his gut. “I had a wife, and son,” he began, looking back down at Stiles’ hand. “But you knew that.”

"After the war, I carried the stench of death with me, and the guilt of the many lives I ruined," he released a heavy breath. "But she welcomed me home with loving arms, and pulled me out of it." He shook his head.

"She didn't have to save me—gods know I didn't deserve it. But she did. And then I lost her, and our son." He released a sharp huff. "I became the person I've always hated, for a long time. Until I met you. You didn't care what I was, or what trauma I pretended to hide behind my anger. And … and I loved you, and I failed you," he weakly admitted, harshly brushing the tears from his eyes, angry at himself. "Even if you don't wake up… I'm staying," he confessed, looking at Stiles' face. "I'll watch over you, until the day I turn feral, and then even for the years after that. I won’t leave your side again."

Derek slowly stood up, tightening the grip he had on Stiles’ hand as he reached his free hand out to brush a calloused hand against Stiles’ cheek. He leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He gently wiped away the stray tears that fell against Stiles’ cheek. He forced himself to release Stiles’ hand, turning to leave the room in order to discuss with John the next steps.

The room was silent in Derek’s absence, the sun slowly declining over the horizon as the day passed.

~*~

Jennifer kept to herself as she watched her father talking with the various council members.

“We should lay him to rest, John,” one of the older lords urged. “It’s been months now.”

“It’s not natural, or healthy to … to keep a body around,” another gently pressed when John refused to look at them.

A growl emitted from the corner Derek had shoved himself into.

During the days, he prowled the halls as a human, and at night he curled at the foot of Stiles’ bed as a wolf. When he slept, it wasn’t sleep but dreams of a different outcome that plagued him. He would startle awake when anyone entered Stiles’ room, despite the hour. He would hover and watch the person with intent, determined to know their purpose.

And he didn’t appreciate the dismissal many had for Stiles.

The council, John included, looked at Derek when they heard the faint growl.

“I’m afraid I agree with Derek,” John finally uttered.

“Your Majesty, grief can cause people to not mourn properly—”

“Stiles shows no sign of rot,” Jennifer finally spoke, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest. She wasn’t surprised when the old men sputtered out the beginnings of some argument. “He’s not dead, but in a sleep,” she stated.

“Then wake him up,” someone countered.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “If I could, I would. This is … an old magic, one few can work a counter for,” she reluctantly admitted. She knew Stiles would have some idea of what to do, angered when she couldn’t find anything in his old books.

“Enough,” John sighed. “Enough,” he softly echoed himself. “The kingdom is still torn apart by war and famine—I would like to focus on something we can work to control.”

Derek’s eyes flashed a crimson red at the men who looked at him—the men who suggested locking Stiles away in a cold and dark crypt, a place Stiles didn’t belong.

~*~

In the darkness, there was a tethering light, something reaching out to him.

_ And … and I loved you, and I failed you. _

_ Even if you don't wake up… I'm staying. I'll watch over you, until the day I turn feral, and then even for the years after that. I won’t leave your side again. _

A sharp gasp loudly cut through the silence of the room, Stiles’ chest drawing in a sudden deep breath before sputtering out a cough.

~*~

Derek looked at the various maps and notes strewed across the war table, listening as John calmly conversed with Parrish. He turned one map around, noticing it as the village the resistance had been growing out of. He wondered if it was going to be safe to travel to now that magic was reaching an equilibrium, forcing the Dark Forest to alter and blossom with untold life.

An electric tingle scratched at the base of Derek’s neck, a familiarity clawing at his senses.

The crackle of an early lightning storm with the promise of a rain mist watering the unquenched dirt.

It was impossible to hope, and yet it felt too real to deny.

Derek turned his head towards the main entrance, his hand dropping the map back to the table. He saw the way Jennifer’s stature grew rigid, as if she sensed it too. He walked, nearly mechanical, towards the door—towards the scent that lured him closer.

Derek’s hands trembled as he reached for the doorknobs. His hands tightened around the metal to the point of causing it to bend at the mercy of his grip. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing as he tried to tell himself it wasn’t the end if Stiles wasn’t there.

He could feel the wolf growing more furious as days passed, a feral anger growing in his heart the more people dismissed Stiles’ present state. Imagining Stiles’ scent—the spark of his life—then losing it, would be the final sign that he was losing control.

It scared him to know that he would gladly lose control if it meant he could have something of Stiles back.

Derek reefed the doors open without hesitation, before he could change his mind.

Stiles stood just outside the door, his hand had reached for the doorknob and only just missed it when Derek pulled the doors open. He stared at Derek, unsure what to say. His body ached, his mind fuzzy with what happened, but all he wanted was for Derek to hold him and not let go.

It took a moment for the shock to dissipate before Derek reached for Stiles, hesitating only for a moment—afraid it would all be delirious, wishful thinking. He pulled Stiles closer, embracing him tightly as he pressed his nose to the curve of Stiles’ neck, just above the fang marks he had left there. He knew it was real when Stiles’ hands clutched at his back.

“How?” He softly asked, though he was uncertain he wanted to know by what miracle Stiles was awake.

“I heard you,” Stiles answered, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

“Mieczysław,” Jennifer’s voice gently spoke his name.

Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder to see Jennifer moving towards them. He slowly pulled back from Derek, using the older man as support from falling over. He offered a faint, unsure smile at Jennifer, hoping it meant things were better.

Stiles reached an arm out for Jennifer, attempting to hug her despite his weakness. He allowed her to support his weight as he nearly crumpled against her.

Derek determinedly kept himself within reach of Stiles.

“Oh, Mieczysław,” Jennifer muffly cried against Stiles’ shoulder, tightening her grip on him as she began to apologize. “Mieczysław, I’m sorry—”

“Me too,” Stiles answered. He wasn’t surprised when he saw his father moving towards them both.

It took John a moment to fall out of his stupor, suddenly conscious of what he was seeing. He had been unaware if he was hallucinating seeing Stiles standing there. He had many dreams of seeing Claudia wander the hallways of the castle, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to see Stiles taking her place.

Stiles released a soft laugh when John embraced him and Jennifer, falling sideways into his father’s embrace. He didn’t release Jennifer, making sure she stayed there with them.

John held his children in a tight embrace, unwilling to let either one of them go.

~*~

Stiles’ magic blossomed, growing stronger in the wake of the Queen’s defeat. He could conjure more than the basic healing spells and protection wards now, using his magic for those around him. He worked with Jennifer in the gardens, combining their knowledge to better the health of the kingdom and its people.

At night, after a particularly rough day, while Derek waited for Stiles he would burrow beneath the blankets in an attempt to hide away in the comfort of their mixed scents. He loved the comfort he felt there, knowing it was a far cry from where he thought he’d end up.

Derek still hated the city. But having Stiles there was a comfort. It had been years since he felt at peace with his wolf—before the war even.

Stiles would sneak beneath the blankets and wrap himself around Derek, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the back of Derek’s ear.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, allowing the younger man to drape himself over his chest. He faintly smiled as he looked up at Stiles, admiring his features as he reached a hand out to brush his fingers adoringly across Stiles’ cheeks. "I love you."

Stiles smelled of the evening sun setting over a harvest. "And I love you," he echoed, happiness tugging at the corner of his lips. His smile was the warmth of a summer breeze over the country roads. His laughter made Derek remember what it felt to have a childish wonder about the world—bright-eyed and hopeful in the goodness of people. It was a wicked game that so many played, and Derek learned the hard way that it sometimes didn't end fairly.

Hope and goodness didn't survive. But Stiles did.

And Derek was going to keep him safe—no matter what.


End file.
